


Twelve Minutes Missing

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Twelve Fics of Christmas [12]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992), The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One minute Spike was in LA, preparing for the big showdown and the next he's in New York.  Shame THRUSH mistakes him for a certain blond UNCLE agent...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Minutes Missing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arcadii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcadii/gifts).



 

 _Bollocks!_ That was the first thing that popped into Spike’s aching head. He’d been about to storm down an alley after a mass of sword-wielding demons.   Gunn, barely able to stand had been on his right, Illyria on his left. Angel, pounce that he was, was after a dragon.

They were all going to die… well, in his case, die again and again. Spike opened his eyes and got slowly to his feet.

Something was wrong. The air was cold, bitterly cold, and there were dirty piles of snow nestled against the buildings that flanked the alley.

He touched his temple and tried to calm down his headache. Without conscious effort, his steps led him towards the sound of traffic. If he could find a street sign, he would have a better chance of knowing where he was.

As he walked, he remembered the way the air around him crackled and hummed as the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart broke through the other dimensions to rain hell down on their small band of misfits.

He came out of the alley and looked at the massive and brightly decorated pine tree. Everywhere he looked, there were the trappings of Christmas.

“Christmas? What the hell?” **It** had been fall or that was his guess. Time didn’t mean much to him anymore. He looked around and then stopped.

There in a shop window was a gaudy holiday display. Next to it read a sign, T _he Hottest Gifts for 1964._ On display was a clock and it read 8:18?   That wasn’t right, they’d met at midnight… it was. Spike dug a watch from the depth of a pocket. It was his father’s watch and the only thing of real value that he owned. It read 12:30. He was missing twelve minutes.

 

  


“What?” Spike turned and then saw the sign. A wave of nausea nearly dropped him to his knees as he read the neon words - _Radio City Music Hall presents – A Christmas Extravaganza! The March of the Tin Soldiers._

He turned back and returned to the alley, his long leather coat swirling in the wind. “How the hell did I end up in an alley in New York in 1964 when I was in Los Angeles in 20 --?”

He never completely the thought as his head exploded in a mass of starbursts. He was not having a good day. _Damn trolls_ was the last thought that slipped from Spike’s brain.

                                                                        ****

Napoleon shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to keep his hands warm. Despite the gloves he wore, he was chilled to the bone. Nothing could warm him, at least not until he found Illya. THRUSH thought dragging his partner through the back alleys and gutters of New York on Christmas Eve was funny. Napoleon was determined to show just how small his sense of humor was.

He’d missed Illya by a mere twelve minutes. It had been a day of running from this fire to that as UNCLE prepared to batten down the hatches for Christmas. Illya had volunteered to work the evening shift as usual, but at the last minute he’d been bumped from the roster.

Illya had no idea the rescheduling was Napoleon’s doing. He’d had the night all planned. First, they would have dinner. That would be followed by a return to his apartment and a night spent in front of the fireplace, exploring their newly found love. At the stroke of midnight, Napoleon would give Illya his gift and his word to his commitment to their relationship.  Illya had been making noises about needing to know Napoleon’s stand on such things and Napoleon was ready to make it permanent tonight.

He’d arrived twelve minutes late, which was almost early by his usual standards. At their table was a note. Napoleon was surprised Illya wasn’t there, but thought the note would explain his absence. It did in all too threatening detail.

 _You want him, Solo. Come and find him. After midnight, we’ll start delivering him to UNCLE in pieces._ Since then, Napoleon had been racing all over the city, following up on every lead.

His communicator crackled to life and Napoleon turned into an alley to take the call.

“Solo here. Please tell me you have something concrete.”

“We do, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows jumped at the voice of his superior, Alexander Waverly. “Sir? Forgive me, Mr. Waverly, but why aren’t you home with your family?”

“We have a missing agent, Mr. Solo. That won’t do at all.” Napoleon smiled at that. “We got a report that a man fitting Mr. Kuryakin’s description was seen in the company of two rather surly men, both believe to be in the service of THRUSH.”

Napoleon listened as Waverly read off the street name and nodded to himself. “That’s just a couple blocks from where I am.”

“I don’t need to remind you that no agent is indispensable.”

“No, sir.”

“Then take care, Mr. Solo, and bring Mr. Kuryakin back to us. Waverly out.”

He forgot the cold, he forgot the snow, the ice, the crowds all headed for evenings more pleasant than his. All Napoleon knew was that Illya was close.

Napoleon turned down the alley just in time to see THRUSH cold conk his partner. He reached for his weapon and yelled, “Hey!”

They turned and suddenly Napoleon world went very black.

 

                                                                        ****

Illya looked at his watch and sighed. “Napoleon, what have you gotten into this time?” He’d had a drink and then another. He ordered an app and ate that as well. Still no Napoleon.

Concerned, he got up from the table and headed for the __maître d__ _. As he guessed, Allan was busy with customers, so Illya waited until the man had a break in the action._

_“Allan, did you receive a message from me from Mr. Solo?”_

“No, __Monsieur__ _Kuryakin. He received a message and it was placed at the table. Perhaps you should consult it?”_

_“Message, we received no message.”_

_Allan’s brow knitted. “Ah, it was when you stepped away to take that phone call.”_

_That made Illya pause. The phone call had been from a raspy-voiced individual promising Illya an evening he would never forget._

_“Divide and conquer, I should have realized. When did Mr. Solo leave?”_

_“He arrived twelve minutes late and I seated him. He read the note and ran out. I thought perhaps a lover’s quarrel?”_

_“Not likely. Think. Do you recall the person who brought the note to you?”_

_“It was a man much like anyone else. There was nothing outstanding about him except for the fact that he wore too much aftershave and needed to bathe.”_

_“That will have to do.” He reached into the pocket of his tuxedo for his communicator and found an empty pocket. Napoleon had insisted upon no communicators this evening._ __Damnit, Napoleon, why do you always make things so hard?_ _ _“Allan, would you be good enough to call me a cab, please?”_

_****_

 

 _Bloody hell,_ Spike thought as he came to. It wasn’t as much as the pounding in his head or the fact that he couldn’t move that distressed him. Someone was wearing way too much aftershave. It preceded the wearer by several yards. “Note to self - remind me not to bite him,” Spike muttered to himself.

Someone was coming, so he kept his head bent.

“I can’t believe the luck. We got Solo and Kuryakin all in the same evening. They have to promote us now.”

“That’s not Kuryakin.”

“Of course it is. Short, blond, skinny.”

“That’s not Kuryakin.” Someone grabbed Spike’s hair and yanked his head back. Game face in place, Spike snarled. The man holding him squealed and jumped back.

“Okay, you win. That’s not Kuryakin. Then who… what is it?”

“Your worst nightmare.” Spike flexed his muscles and the ropes fell away. “I haven’t bitten a human for years, but I might well make an exception today.” The men literally screamed like little girls and ran from him. “Well, that’s got to be good for the ego.”

Spike stood and shook himself free of the ropes.   The room was windowless, but Spike wasn’t worried. His useless examples of captors had left his door open. He stepped out into the corridor and began to walk.

The smell of blood was strong and his stomach gurgled. He patted it and sighed. “Ah, the good old days. Bloody soul.” Still, the odor was fresh and it was hard resist it.

He paused before a door and fiddled with the knob for a minute before frustration got the better of him and he snapped it off. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside the dark room and waited for his night vision to kick in.

The smell was coming from the corner and Spike knew there was someone there even before he could see him.

He walked to the crumpled heap and knelt down. “Bloody hell, mate, someone has thrashed you good and proper.” The man tried to fight him, but Spike easily held him still. “Good for you, mate, keep up that spirit. Not to worry. I’m wearing a white hat these days.”

“Who…” The man coughed as Spike helped him sit up. “Who are you?”

“Call me Spike.” He resisted licking the man’s blood. It was struggle enough to keep his demon in check. The glorious smell of blood was intoxicating. “And you?”

“Napoleon, Napoleon Solo.”

“And what did you do to make these losers so angry at you.”

“I thought I was trying to rescue my partner when I got ambushed, but it was you.”

“Tried? Looks like I’m the one doing the rescuing, mate.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Napoleon coughed again. “I can see why they thought you were Illya, though. You have many similar features.” His voice grew stronger as he talked.

“But why?”

“No idea.” Napoleon touched the corner of his mouth tenderly. “Must be that we wear the same white hat.”

“The good guys, yeah? How do I know?”

“I didn’t hit you over the head.”

“I’ll give you that one. What say we get out of here before those other blokes return with reinforcements?”

“I don’t think that I can,” Napoleon said, touching his leg. “I think it’s broken.”

“Well, then I’ll carry you.”

“No, find my partner, Illya Kuryakin. They have him and they are going to start cutting him up into little pieces. That wouldn’t do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll just lie here and bleed.”

“All right, then.” Spike straightened. “How will I know your partner?”

“Look in a mirror.”

“No bloody help there,” Spike muttered turning to leave.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. These men aren’t nice. They are killers.”

“That’s because they have met a proper killer yet. Don’t you worry your baby blues over it.”

                                                                        ****

Napoleon sat in the dark and pondered his fate. THRUSH would be back soon enough and he was in no condition to do anything about it. He half-hopped/half-dragged himself to a musty smelling cot and eased himself onto it. He didn’t know if the leg was broken, the knee was dislocated or just badly sprained. None of it mattered. He had to put all his faith in a blond stranger.   _It’s Christmas Eve, God. Too late for another Christmas miracle?_

What was supposed to be a night of celebration and commitment might be the worst night of his life if Spike wasn’t successful. Even if he was, there was no telling what torture they had already subjected Illya to.

Napoleon’s stomach wrenched and he leaned over to vomit.   He emptied his stomach and, exhausted, flopped over onto his side. He was overwhelmed with dust and the stink of mold.

“Get yourself together, Solo,” he muttered as he pushed himself back upright.   He needed to figure out an escape plan. He got himself upright and tested his leg. The pain was bad, but not impossible. “Must be a sprain after all,” he murmured.

It took him only a few minutes to get to the door, but it felt like an hour.

                                                                        ****

To say that Illya created a stir upon his arrival at UNCLE HQ was a grave understatement. He was escorted up to Waverly’s office without delay.

“Mr. Kuryakin, I am delighted to see you whole and unscathed.   How did you escape from your captors?”

“I didn’t. I was waiting for Napoleon at a restaurant. When he didn’t show up, I started asking questions.”

“Oh, dear, it would appear that he was the target of this attempt, after all. We have been trying to reach him, but without success.”

“Can you tell me his last known location? Hopefully, he left a trail behind and I can pick it up from there.”

That led him to this alley. There was an indication of a fight… possibly two. He scanned the ground, following the tracks in the slush. Overhead snow had started to drift down. In another hour, the trail would have been completely covered. For a change, luck was on Illya Kuryakin’s side.

He followed them to a door and it took him precious minutes to pick the lock. His fingers were so stiff from the cold that he dropped the pick once. Cursing, he searched with a penlight until he found it. Finally, the tumblers shifted and he got the door open. It creaked loudly, angry at the movement, and Illya winced. Stepping inside, he headed for a shadow and stood there, motionless, for several seconds.

When it became apparent that no one was responding to the noise, he brought his communicator to his mouth. “Open Channel D. please.”

“Yes, Mr. Kuryakin?”

“I’m inside, sir. Suggest you triangulate upon this signal and send back up.”

“Understood. Waverly out.”

Drops of blood marred the stone of the floor and Illya followed them, pausing every few seconds to check his location.

_Where is everyone? More importantly, where is Napoleon?_

                                                                        ****

Spike sauntered down the hall, not worried about being seen. He didn’t care one way or the other as long as these idiots didn’t start waving a stake in his face. He was more concerned with how he was going to get back to his proper time. The fact that the world was still here was reassuring, but he couldn’t help but wonder how they’d fared, who’d lived. He didn’t really want to have to do it all over again, but then he could always be the one to first approach Buffy. Maybe then she’d see how good a man he could be.

He heard a noise and paused, taking a deep breath.

“That’s not possible,” he said to himself. He’d left the man bleeding in another room. He rounded the corner and nearly walked into a stranger. He was short, slender and blond. And the smell of ownership was all over him.

“Mr. Kuryakin, I presume?” He looked down at the weapon pointed in his direction. “You’re gonna need to do a bit more than that, Blondie.”

“How… how do you know my name?” The gun lowered slightly.

“Your partner is here. I just left him in the other room.”

“Napoleon? Is he all right?”

“He’s still alive, if that’s what you mean. I can take him to you. Funny enough, he thought you’d be the one in bad shape.”

“It was a trap for him from the beginning.”

“Right on that. C’mon.” Spike turned to leave, then paused. “Are you coming?”

“As I said, this has been a trap from the beginning.” The weapon came back up.

“Fine. Your choice, but do I really look like one of those other blokes.”

“No, I have to admit you don’t.”

“By the way, the name’s Spike.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

                                                                        **** Napoleon had made it to the door and was about to push it aside when he heard the voices. A surge of adrenaline sent him back to the cot. Napoleon positioned himself so that he could watch them.

“What the hell…?” The door was yanked open and the frame was filled by the sheer size of the man. He looked over at Napoleon and then back. “It’s a good thing he’s still here, since you were lame brained enough to lose his partner.”

“It wasn’t his partner, it was some kinda monster.” The second THRUSH cowered behind the man.

“I should have just killed you when I had the chance. Let’s get Solo back to the Interrogation Room. He should be ready to talk by now.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then Waverly will find several oozing gifts under his tree. I’m just in the mood to carve a little turkey.”

Napoleon squashed the feeling of dread that enveloped him. He would not survive another go round with this man.

                                                          ****

Illya walked slowly, cautious where his blond guide was casual. He didn’t exactly trust him, but what choice did he have.

Spike paused, his head cocked. “Stop here for a bit.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your friend has company. We need to rescue him.” Spike started to move, but an arm caught and pushed him back against the wall. Spike was startled. “What are you playing at? I thought he was your friend.”

“He is, but think. He’s in there and they are standing at the door with weapons. We surprise them and they shoot…”

“And they will kill him. He wasn’t in any shape to escape them.”

“Don’t count Napoleon down for the count. He’s very… resilient.”

So they waited. The men talked casually about killing Napoleon and a ball of anger built in Illya’s stomach. To be killed on assignment was one thing. They were killing simply for the thrill.

The THRUSH disappeared into the room and came out a moment later, supporting Napoleon between them.

“Now?” Spike whispered?

“Go!”

They raced forward and the THRUSH never knew what hit them. Spike went up to the larger man and slammed a fist in the man’s face. It sent him flying backwards to land in a crumpled heap. Spike moved quickly to stand over him. Illya watched him out of the corner of his eye. He was busy with his own quarry.

The THRUSH turned to flee, probably to alert the rest of the enemy, but Napoleon lashed out with a hand and tripped the man. He went head first into the wall and slid down it.

“Thanks,” Illya said, making sure the man was out. He took off his belt and trussed his THRUSH up.

Spike was talking to the big man as he came back to his feet. “I can admire your handiwork from a demon sort of perspective, but no one hurts my friends.”

“And what are you gonna do about it, shrimp?”

Illya nearly gasped out loud as Spike’s features morphed into something else. It was feral and demonic.

“I say, let’s eat.”

Illya turned his attention back to Napoleon, helping him to sit up.

“Are you badly hurt?” Illya cupped Napoleon’s cheek to look into his eyes. “You don’t have a concussion.”

“Not really, although I wouldn’t say no to an ice pack and a nice bed to stretch out in.”

Illya hefted Napoleon up, his arm wrapped around Napoleon’s waist and looked back at Spike. The monster wiped blood from his mouth and turned. As he did, the features slipped back into human appearing.

“What are you?” Illya asked, his hand finding the butt of his weapon.

“Vampire. Boy, I haven’t eaten like that in a hundred years.” Spike looked back at the guy. “I didn’t kill him because I don’t fancy him coming back as one of my own. Would you like me to snap his neck?”

“Can he move?”

“Not for a bit. Being drained takes it out of you.”

“No, reinforcements will here soon. Let them deal with him.”

Spike slipped up under Napoleon’s other arm. “Then, gents, I believe our work here is done.”

“What are you doing here?”

“That is a bit of a mystery, inn’t? One minute I was in Los Angeles about to take on all the demons from Hell and the next I was here.”

They walked out the door and into the New York night.

Suddenly there was a sharp crackled and a pillar of light appeared.

“Good god,” Napoleon muttered, obviously exhausted and ready to pass out. “I forgot I asked for a miracle. With any luck, we won’t turn into salt.”

The light split and a woman stepped from within, her blonde hair swirling in the wind caused by the energy.

“Spike!”

“Buffy?” He ducked free from Napoleon and Illya caught his partner long enough for Napoleon to get his feet beneath him. Spike ran to the woman and they embraced

“Where have you been? We were looking everywhere for you. Willow finally figured out you got caught in a time vortex.”

“Angel?”

“He’s still with us. Giles is with him. We won… sort of. There’s not much of LA left, though.”

“Wasn’t much left of LA before we reigned down the vengeance of Wolfram and Hart.” Spike looked back at the pair. “Sorry to leave you, mates, but this is my ride.”

Holding the woman’s hand, he followed her into the light and then it vanished. Less than a minute later, there was the sound of running feet and they were surrounded by UNCLE agents.

Napoleon waved them away and pointed to the door. Wearily he moved to a nearby crate and sat down. “Let’s go home, Illya.”

“Wouldn’t you rather go to Medical?” Illya sat down beside Napoleon, their legs touching.

“No, I just want to go home and get tucked into bed by someone caring and experienced enough to not ask me how I’m feeling every five minutes.”

Illya smiled sweetly. “I think that can be arranged. Perhaps we should wait until New Year’s to celebrate Christmas.”

“That is the smartest thing I’ve heard all night.” Napoleon paused. “We didn’t imagine him, did we?”

“Does it matter? You’re safe, the THRUSH is in our tender care now and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Then maybe my wish for a miracle really did come true.”

Illya wrapped his arms around Napoleon and got him upright.   “Mine certainly did.”

Together they walked away from the building and into Christmas morning.

 

This is the end of the Twelve Fics of Christmas. I hope you enjoyed reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. I wish everyone happiness and peace on Earth in our lifetime.


End file.
